


Straight To Video

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-24 12:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: It’s his face. His eyes, especially. They’re brown, the color warm like melted chocolate, but they’re also vulnerable and terrified, playing into the vibe of the song even better than the dancer’s body, even though he twirls and jumps and spreads himself thin. The real heartbreak is appearing right here, right on the dancefloor, as the dancer sheds a single, perfect tear.Phil's peaceful, ordinary life takes an unexpected detour into a passionate, forbidden romance with a dancer, Dan.





	Straight To Video

**Author's Note:**

> Just... trust me on this one.
> 
> Playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1168369167/playlist/2OjHDVlKaBzpexhEQCd9e7?si=fjVvlza6QNu8v6BAc9vXQQ), and it really sets the right mood.

He’s mesmerized.

Phil has seen hundreds upon hundreds of music videos; he makes a living editing them after all. He’s watched endless footage of famous pop and rock stars, actors paid by the hour and world-class dancers. Most of the time he enjoys it, loves it even, directors these days coming up with some amazing ideas that really catch the eye and engage the mind, but Phil has never felt like _this_.

The band he’s editing for plays modern alt-pop with a heavier edge. The vocalist is vaguely femme and nearly too pretty to be an actual human being, but he’s not the one rendering Phil absolutely breathless. There’s a dancer, dressed in a tight black bodysuit, performing a modern jazz solo. Phil received solid five minutes of footage of just him, his flawless body, tight muscles and perfectly curled brown hair, but it’s not just his looks pulling Phil in.

It’s his face. His eyes, especially. They’re brown, the color warm like melted chocolate, but they’re also vulnerable and terrified, playing into the vibe of the song even better than the dancer’s body, even though he twirls and jumps and spreads himself thin. The beautiful singer croons about heartbreak and despair but the real heartbreak is appearing right here, right on the dancefloor, when Phil can see the ribs poking through the black fabric of the bodysuit as the dancer sheds a single, perfect tear.

Phil feels a powerful tingle in the tips of his fingers, the back of his neck, the base of his throat. He saves the dancer’s footage as he usually does and then saves it again, elsewhere, as he does exactly never. Then he replays it five times, unable to force himself to cut it into little pieces that will fit the video but won’t be its main focus, even though they should be. Cut the singer, cut the band performing, cut the music, even, just leave the most expressive dancer in the world, let everybody see the way his toes bend and his eyes scream as he’s looking up to the sky for answers he is never going to find.  

Phil opens up a bottle of red wine and watches the footage again. Then again, again, and again. The bottle is suddenly empty and Phil’s got his phone in his hand, about to make a very reckless move.

*

_PJ: here’s his number, but apparently he doesn’t like being called_

_PJ: I know he’s in Ldn today and tomorrow filming for Charli XCX, I’ll send you the location_

_PJ: don’t do anything stupid, Phil_

_PJ: oh, what the hell. be as stupid as you want, just don’t blame me for anything lmao_

_PJ: his name is Dan btw_

Phil’s heart is beating somewhere closer to his ass than his chest, his body suddenly nervous-sweating in places he never knew existed. PJ came through, as he always does.

A scary deadline is looming over Phil, so he sits down and forces himself to keep editing the video, even if every sight of the dancer - _Dan_ \- sends him so far into the orbit he might never go back.

*

The next day is cold, windy and rainy in typical English fashion and Phil has to namedrop PJ Liguori, a highly-esteemed music video director and also one of his best friends, just two times to easily enter a vast, post-industrial warehouse space where Charli XCX is filming for her newest single.  

Her and a group of dancers are currently in the middle of a lively choreo, all dressed in 90s style hip hop clothing, almost melting into one being as they’re all in perfect sync, but it still takes Phil only seconds to zero in on Dan. He’s wearing ridiculous baggy pants and a neon pink crop top and nothing about this outfit should work, but it obviously works perfectly.

The director - a short woman that Phil doesn’t know, but PJ certainly does - yells “Great! Cut, water break before the last take, everybody!” and Phil really tries not to stare too hard. He doesn’t want to be a creep, even if he already feels like one, but it’s proving extremely difficult to take his eyes off Dan when the man steps off the set to find his water bottle and share a laugh with the other dancers. Phil thinks he’s hidden well enough in the shadows, but the dancers are running back to the set now and Dan stays behind a little, expression like he’s looking for something, frowning until he gazes straight at Phil past the mess of lamps and wires and he smiles, just like sunlight has suddenly hit his face.

Phil nearly clutches his own chest in joy.

Dan grins at him, raising his hand in a little awkward wave that Phil mirrors. The director calls everyone back to the set just then and Dan almost trips over his own legs running, much less graceful all of a sudden. Phil watches him dance through the last take without a hitch though and even though commercial hip hop is much less entrancing than emotional modern jazz, he’s still pretty into it, especially the sight on Dan’s toned stomach in that crop top.

They shake hands seven minutes later. Phil waits for that infamous spark to jump, but misses it, too busy finally looking into those eyes up close.

“Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dan,” says Dan, his accent letting Phil know he’s definitely British, probably local.

“Hi. I’m -”

“Phil Lester. I know who you are,” Dan replies, shocking Phil into silence. “Oh, fuck, don’t worry, it’s nothing creepy. You’re friends with PJ, right? And a lot of other directors who matter. I’ve seen you on Instagram, I sort of spend most of my life there. You do editing, right?”

Phil thinks maybe he should be paying more attention to Instagram. Maybe he will. Maybe later, because right now Dan is still looking right into his eyes, expectant, curious and open, and Phil can swear he feels the heat of his body on his own, mostly covered, skin.

“Do you wanna get some drinks with me, Dan?” he asks, realizing he didn’t answer any of Dan’s questions, but unable to save himself now. And there’s a lot of things he currently needs to save himself from.

Dan’s smile changes. The open, bright grin is gone, replaced by something more subtle, alluring, tempting. “Is it a business opportunity? Or _just_ an opportunity?”

The question is loaded on both ends, Phil’s feet are sinking into solid ground and there’s beads of sweat rolling down Dan’s abdominal muscles. “I currently have no business to offer you, sorry.”

_It’s just me. My time, my attention, my body, whatever you’re willing to take._

There’s absolutely no disappointment to be found on Dan’s face though. “I have to change and grab my things. Meet you outside in twenty?”

*

Phil picks a fancy bar two blocks from his apartment, but they get stuck in traffic. Casual Dan is dressed in a transparent raincoat over an oversized black sweater, skin peeking through the rips in his jeans, his nails coated in silvery glitter while the rain pounds against the hood of their Uber, the car not having moved an inch in the last 10 minutes.

They talk and Dan is a little more awkward than Phil thought he would be, and he’s loving everything about it; Phil is not the king of self-confidence either. He’s feeling a pull so strong he has to steady himself not to fall into Dan. So far, Dan hasn’t even asked why or how Phil found him.

Growing frustrated with the way the traffic doesn’t seem to be moving at all, Phil leans forward, trying to peer through the front window, until he feels Dan’s hand on his arm.

It’s the first time they’ve touched ever since the handshake. The jittery mess that are Phil’s insides turns even more jittery as he leans back again to look at Dan.

“Didn’t you say you live just around the corner? If you have anything to drink at home, we could just walk there.”

Phil thinks of the empty wine bottle from yesterday, still sitting next to his desk. “I’m - I’m not sure I have anything.”

Dan’s hand remains on Phil’s shoulder, even if there’s no reason for it to be there anymore.

“That’s alright. We could just order a pizza. Or - not.”

Phil feels that crazy pull again.

*

The door slams behind them, Dan carefully takes off his expensive raincoat and hangs it up and Phil chooses this moment to realize he’s feeling like he’s acting in a movie about his own life. Nothing quite like this has ever happened to him before; no improbable scenarios, no love at first sight, no crazy sexual escapades. He’s over 30 years old and so, so boring. He never wanted to be anything but. His life was always enough.

After this, it might not be anymore.

Everything is different now, because Dan is here, so he softly guides him to the living room sofa and already knows from the look in Dan’s eyes that they won’t be doing any pizza-eating or alcohol-drinking tonight, at least not yet. He reaches out to bury his hands in Dan’s plush curls, a little wet from the rain.

Dan leans into the touch first, sighing as Phil applies pressure to his scalp, and then he leans into Phil.

“Shit, I forgot to turn the light on,” Phil mutters, afraid of everything and nothing all at once, struggling to see Dan’s features in the glow of the streetlights climbing into his dim apartment.

“Don’t,” Dan replies, a small moan rolling off his tongue, his denim-clad legs brushing Phil’s as he slides closer and closer. “Can I kiss you, Phil?”

Phil nods, unsure if Dan can see it, and meets him halfway.

Dan is soft, smooth and warm in Phil’s grip. Phil groans so deeply it nearly shatters his lungs when Dan climbs into his lap, his mouth already open, Phil’s teeth greedily pulling on Dan’s lower lip. Phil gently slides his hands under Dan’s sweater to discover there’s nothing underneath except an expanse of naked skin, so he presses his fingertips into it, his nails leaving crescent-shaped marks. Dan presses his hips tightly against Phil’s as he lets Phil mouth at his neck and collarbones, little goosebumps covering the skin there.

“Off with that,” Phil sighs, pulling away to tug at Dan’s sweater that the other man swiftly removes, tossing it over his head and going back to kissing Phil with laughter dying against his lips.

Phil takes one last look at his own feet dangling over the abyss, shrugs and lets go, letting himself fall.

*

Dan is the softest creature Phil has ever had sex with. Phil is all sharp edges while Dan is everything but, beautiful and fluid and not letting Phil catch a breath, spread against the bedsheets like this is where he belongs and maybe he does. His body is toned and perfect, the man in full control over it, his tongue bringing heaven and hell itself as he slowly drags it down Phil’s stomach and then lower and lower. He’s delicate, but also completely shameless.

Phil giggles at the way Dan’s eyes go wide when he pulls Phil’s underwear down. Dan’s not laughing; he’s licking his lips and doesn’t stick to just looking for much longer.

Phil’s not one for screaming; his partners are sometimes, but it just never really happened for him. Not until Dan. Dan makes everything seem possible, and then makes it a reality two minutes later. Dan lets him feel like he’s in control, but never quite lets go of the reigns. Dan throws his head back, exposing his throat that Phil is so tempted to mark, but doesn’t. When he closes his eyes, he feels like he’s on a Californian beach with the most stunning boy he ever met and they’re making love at sunset as the warm sea gently washes over them. When he opens his eyes, there’s no sunset and no beach, just grey, rainy London, but the gorgeous boy is still there so Phil still feels like a winner, tasting salt on his lips.

He makes Dan come with his hands and his words, and finishes as well while Dan looks right into his eyes and gently touches the side of his face. The heat of Dan’s body envelops him whole.

 _You’re a miracle_ , he whispers, quietly hoping Dan won’t hear him.

*

They talk about their jobs, everything and nothing in between until late at night when they actually do order some pizza. Phil doesn’t remember the last time he talked so much; it was probably sometime in the previous century. His throat is sore.

Dan drains three glasses of water, doesn’t put any clothes back on and never leaves the bed. “Fuck, Phil, why are you so easy to be around?” he asks at some point, and Phil’s got no earthly idea. He’s still stunned, absentmindedly reaching for Dan’s hand and playing with his dainty fingers. He answers, probably, nonsensical words toppling over each other and their bodies crash like rolling waves again, Dan’s palm comes up to the base of Phil’s neck as they kiss and everything else goes away until they’re left panting and satisfied.

“Why did you even agree to have drinks with me in the first place?” asks Phil, because he can ask questions too, and because after making Dan orgasm twice he still has no idea why Dan let him.

“Seriously?” Dan asks, frowning, rising on his elbow to look at Phil. “Have you seen yourself?”

Phil must still look doubtful, so Dan continues with more force. “You’re stunning. Don't get me wrong, you _do_ have freakishly pale skin, but other than that? I'd take ten of you and it still wouldn't be enough. No wonder I was a little starstruck when you wanted to talk to me.”

“Starstruck? I thought you were just excited about the non-existent business opportunity.”

Hearing Dan's laugh feels like he’s known Dan forever. Maybe they met in a previous life. Maybe they are star-crossed lovers from another timeline, maybe from this one, if Phil's lucky. Phil is happy to live in the world of a thousand and one clichés if it only means keeping Dan right where he is now, naked and flushed and eyes crinkling from laughter.

*

It’s like a hammer drill forcing its way straight into his brain. Phil’s heart is pounding and he might just have a stroke when his eyes snap open, trying to find a source of the awful sound.

Dan is awake already, scrambling to grab for his phone and turn off the alarm, a loud whine of annoying electronic music dying in his hands.

It’s six in the morning. They couldn’t have slept more than an hour or two.

“That must be the worst alarm I have ever heard. Fuck.”

Dan laughs helplessly, reaching out to mess with Phil’s hair. He has epic bags under his eyes, but his own curls are unfairly neat-looking. “It’s the only one that can wake me up. Sorry it scared you.”

Phil shrugs, _Don’t worry about it, I still like you,_ and Dan leans in to actually kiss him on the forehead. Maybe Phil’s not quite awake yet after all.

“Why do you have to be up so early anyway?”

“Oh, I have to make my flight home.”

“Home?” Phil asks, confused. Maybe he’s only known Dan for a night, but nothing the man said ever suggested he might live anywhere else than London.

“Yeah, I kinda live in LA now, didn’t I tell you?”

 _Kinda?_ Dan brushes it off and asks Phil if he can take a shower. Phil agrees, trying to get over the bitter taste of confusion and disappointment. It’s not like Phil expected them to be a thing, right? He didn’t.

He didn’t.

Phil listens to the water running, Dan humming a tune Phil can’t quite place, then turning on the hairdryer. The bruise right underneath Phil’s left collarbone hurts when he presses his fingertips against it.

Dan leaves the bathroom ten minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. There’s this look in his eyes again, the one Phil has seen in the video he edited, and Phil can hear the music swell in the background even though his flat is quiet.

“How much time do you have left?” he asks.

Dan drops the towel.

*

_I’ll let you know the next time I’m here._

Before Dan left for the airport, he claimed to be in the UK very often, having moved to LA for job opportunities but somehow still finding more work on his home turf. Phil has no reason not to believe him, his brain cluttered with indecent memories of the boy, the smooth warmth of his skin and the way he exhaled Phil’s name like a curse.

Phil has work to do. A lot of it.

It’s been one day, and he asks himself how stupid of him it would be to start missing Dan. It’s either that or accepting the fact that last night was a one-off, a dream-like happy mistake of the universe that’s never going to happen to him again.

He watches the footage of Dan dancing. One, two, three times. He texts PJ. _I did something stupid._

Finally, he finds Dan on Instagram.

There’s a photo from the Charli XCX set: Dan, the singer and some other dancers raising peace signs to the sky. There’s a beauty shot of Dan in the transparent rain jacket, a pic of a very British hotel breakfast and then -

Oh.

_Oh._

Phil nearly drops the phone. His heart sinks, so deep it doesn’t even feel like a metaphor anymore. PJ texts him back, but he ignores it, appalled and shocked, scrolling lower and lower, continuously scratching at an open wound.

Dan has a boyfriend.

There’s no doubt about it. The man looks almost just like Dan, only slightly shorter and a little more tanned. Ten minutes of scrolling later Phil knows that his name is Anthony, that he’s a dancer too, that they live together in LA and have been together for at least two years now.

Wow. This is why Phil can’t have nice things, huh? He touches his collarbone bruise and has a sudden urge to surgically remove it. His eyes are burning as he stares at the sappiest of all sappy posts Dan posted for Anthony’s birthday, the caption standing out among the sea of ironic quips and Vine quotes. _Happy birthday, soulmate. The light and warmth you bring into my life is as everlasting as the sun_. Phil scrolls through ten pictures of the two men smiling, holding up colorful drinks, hugging, kissing on exotic beaches, then remembers Dan touching his face as he came in his hands and the dissonance almost makes him want to vomit.

That’s why it all seemed too good to be true.

Because it was.

*

_Phil: maybe he’s in an open relationship_

_PJ: you’re trying to justify his behavior. some people are just liars, Phil_

PJ is right, some people are. Some people are just made of lies, like a crochet sweater fully weaved of them, one entangled with another, and they drag others down with them. Maybe Phil isn’t an angel, but he was never a cheater either. The thought never even crossed his mind. He never wanted to contribute to someone ruining their relationship in any way.

Hell, Dan is the one who’s supposed to care for his boyfriend, not Phil. Phil shouldn’t be the one kept awake by absurd, messed up thoughts, waking up in cold sweat worried for poor innocent Anthony.

He feels like he’s been poisoned.

The worst part is, he still misses Dan.

*

_Dan: wanna grab coffee tomorrow? I work in the evening but I’ll do my best to wake up early!_

It's only been three weeks. Phil is surprised with the message on a completely ordinary evening, walking back home from a dinner with some friends. Almost content, almost normal.

His friends, other than PJ, know nothing about his suffering heart. Sophie keeps blabbering about her friend, another up-and-coming director, who Phil _absolutely_ has to meet. PJ raises an eyebrow and sends Phil a clandestine, loaded look over their plates.

Phil shouldn't even reply to the message. If he were to ignore it, move on, give himself time to heal and forget just how great things felt with Dan, everything would be fine. Dan would get the idea and Phil's life would get back on track.

That's what he should do. So, of course, he finds himself seated across from Dan in a half-empty Starbucks with floor to ceiling windows the very next morning.

It's almost summer now, so Dan's black blouse is a little see-through, sliding off his right shoulder, shamelessly revealing skin. Phil knows nothing about fashion, too devoted to his wide selection of button-up shirts and trusty denim jackets, but he can tell Dan kind of cares and makes it look easy. He’s wearing a suede choker on his neck and his nails are glittery again, but pale pink this time. He’s still the eighth wonder of the world, making Phil sick, sipping on a venti iced latte, the straw resting against his lips as Phil has it all out with him.

“So, you have a boyfriend back in LA.”

Phil watches for a reaction. Dan blinks, sighs a little, shoulders rising, and sips on his drink before putting it down on the table, but still keeping his left palm wrapped around it. “I do. It’s not like I’m trying to hide it, is it?”

“And you didn’t -” Phil can feel himself growing frustrated. “You didn’t think it would be worth mentioning to me at some point? Preferably before we slept together?”

“You never asked.”

Well, Phil never figured he _had to._

“Are you in an open relationship?”

Bitterly, Dan smiles. “No.”

Phil nearly bangs his head against the table. This is absurd; why does he even bother? Because Dan obviously doesn’t - his conscience seems unphased by the idea. The sharp morning light is making him look young and innocent, which isn’t true. Phil really wants to unwrap him from all the layers of fakeness and see what’s underneath, leave him vulnerable and open and bleeding, but he also just wants -

“I’m - I’m sorry, alright? I never said I was a good person. I’m not. I know I’m not. What else do you want me to say to you?”

Phil has no idea who he’s looking at anymore. There’s such a dissonance between the dancer he first saw in the video, whose eyes spoke volumes, who told Phil embarrassing childhood stories while eating pizza in the middle of the night and who half-consciously reached out for Phil’s hand before falling asleep, and this cold, calculating creature selling him meaningless phrases.

“Tell me something, anything, that’s not a lie.”

Dan makes a move like he wants to grab Phil by both hands, but stops himself and ends up leaning halfway across the table.

“I - Phil, I - nothing I ever told you was a lie.”

Phil could walk away from this. He is in full power to just stand up, close the door, never look back.

He could.

Dan is nervously biting on his straw.

Phil can't help but think how much he wants Dan; how much he wants to take him right here, right now. On the table, against the windowpane, doesn't really matter. His entire body, heart included, is crying out for it, for the boy who is just mere feet away, the lies peeling away, his truth extremely ugly.

It seems like there is nothing left to say anymore. Dan stirs the ice cubes in his frozen coffee with the straw and Phil hates the words before they even leave his mouth.

“Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Dan doesn't even take one second to think it through.

He carries the remains of his iced coffee all the way back to Phil's apartment, the ice melting into the rest of the liquid, turning it into a disgusting flush. There’s almost nothing left except for the ice cubes when Phil finally pushes Dan against the wall and bites down on his neck maybe a bit too hard, making Dan drop the cup to the floor, the contents soaking into the carpet.

Phil's alright. He’s given up already. It's a loss-loss situation. All of his morals die the very second he drops to his knees to undo Dan's skinny jeans and reduce him to a whimpering mess, weak legs, fingers pulling on Phil's hair, begging him not to ever stop.

The day is bright and still early, sunlight blazing into Phil's apartment and he's got a lot of insecurities about his body. Dan doesn't seem to notice, occupied with kissing absolutely every inch of Phil. There's something heavy hanging in the air between them, probably the weight of Dan's truth and somehow that makes them even more reckless, hungry and needy. Phil's skin is burning with every drag of Dan's lips against the insides of his thighs.

“You're so beautiful, Phil. So beautiful. Please tell me how to make you feel good.”

Dan can do things Phil has only ever fantasized about. It scares Phil, making him think of how many other people he does this with, making him uncomfortable with his own disposability. He finds himself saying words though, voicing his wild dreams and Dan doesn't bat an eyelash while doing his best to make the dreams a reality.

Phil's knuckles are white. He's arching his back so far off the bed he might actually fly off, and if he forgets his own name at some point, he can't really be blamed. Dan should be illegal.

Phil totally loses his no screaming cred.

“There you go. You're okay, baby, I got you. Everything is fine.” Dan holds his hand, pulling him slowly back to reality. It's a shame; Phil would love to stay wherever it is he goes while having sex with Dan.

“This is all so, so wrong,” Phil says, looking up at the ceiling, Dan's head resting on his chest, and he's feeling weak in so many ways.

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me,” Dan replies, swiftly rolling away, putting some distance between them.

“I -” Phil sits up, unnerved by the sudden empty space, not enjoying it one bit. “I don't even know if I should be asking you this, but-”

“Then don't,” Dan cuts in, looking done with everything.

Phil pushes forward anyway. “How often do you - do this?”

Dan scoffs. “Are you asking how many times I've cheated on my boyfriend? Well. Twice now. Unless you want to count each time you made me come separately. Because if so, we're gonna be here a while.”

Phil's mouth drops a little. Dan's angry - the frown returns to its spot between his eyebrows, he pushes away the sheets and disappears in the bathroom, not quite slamming the door.

It takes him five minutes to return. In the meantime, Phil doesn’t think about anything. His mind is rendered blank, stupid, uncooperative, deciding it's just not the right time to analyse it all. There's just too much to analyse. When Dan finally steps out of the bathroom, Phil is waiting for him with open arms. The other man takes careful steps before falling in, situating himself right in Phil's space. Phil kisses him first, slow and gentle, full of words he's not going to say, hoping against hope Dan understands. And maybe he does, judging by his loud, long exhale after they break apart. It's a no-brainer for Phil to just wrap his arms tighter around Dan, pull him close and let him rest against his chest again.

They spend a long time like this, just lying down in a tangle, listening to the noises outside and their own beating hearts.

Phil's got no answers.

*

_Dan: I just saw the smallest dog ever_

Phil is in a meeting with the Arctic Monkeys’ creative team when the text and the photo come through. The dog is indeed extremely small and Phil chuckles to himself, all eyes in the room falling on him and he’s got absolutely no explanation, so he just mutters a lame apology.

No day goes by without a text from Dan now. Memes. Music recommendations. Random photos of funny things from the streets of LA. Dan flies to Chicago for two weeks and sends Phil a thorough video review of his first ever deep dish pizza.

They easily fall into a habit of sharing these little things. Phil is angry at the universe because this is already a better connection than he had with any person he ever actually dated.

How is he supposed to go from here?

The time zones are fucking Phil up. More often than not he finds himself still awake at five in the morning just because Dan is still going about his day on the other side of the globe. He’s barely functioning when he finally agrees to go on a date with Sophie’s director friend, Hazel, who is beautiful and lovely and deserves so much better than Phil, only awake thanks to three energy drinks, low-key delirious and whose heart is definitely not in it. He apologizes to her profusely, she laughs it off, they eat a nice dinner, chat a little and call it a night.

It takes forever for Dan to come to the UK again. The summer is almost dead and gone by the time Phil receives the message he’s trying to convince himself he hasn’t been waiting for.

_Dan: how does a weekend getaway in Glasgow sound?_

It’s late at night and Dan is waiting behind the glass in the Arrivals hall of the Glasgow airport, drowning in a loose black hoodie, arms crossed on his chest like he’s cold, looking out of place and lost until he notices Phil. They embrace very briefly, like Dan’s in a hurry to get somewhere, pulling Phil and his suitcase along to what turns out to be a taxi rank and then into the first available car. The driver starts the engine and Dan launches himself at Phil, arms going around his neck in a tight hold, lips connecting with Phil’s and puzzle pieces falling into place. Phil can feel the sweep of Dan’s eyelashes on his cheeks and a chemical taste of medicine in his breath. Dan’s very intense, seeming like there’s more to it than just pure want, and Phil is giving him back every pull and every bite, not even sparing a thought for the poor cab driver.

“Fuck, I missed you, Phil,” Dan whispers into Phil’s neck, half-seating in Phil’s lap and not trying to move away.

“I missed you too,” Phil replies, carding fingers through Dan’s curls, the words coming out straight from his heart without his brain’s consent. He touches Dan’s neck, only then noticing how clammy and hot his skin is. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m sick as hell actually.”

*

Phil buys an entire battery of cold meds and spends most of Saturday feeding them to Dan, who is supposed to be ready for rehearsal day on Sunday and filming day on Monday. Currently, he's shivering in the hotel bed bundled up in blankets and the only warm sweater Phil brought.

“I'm so sorry you have to see me like this,” he croaks, voice scratchy and barely there.

“Don't be stupid. Obviously it’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn't have made you come.”

“Stop it,” Phil presses a finger against Dan's lips, the other man's skin still hot to the touch. “I'll gladly keep you company.”

Phil makes Dan tea and hands him another aspirin as the other man is flipping through the channels on the hotel TV. They finally settle for binging season three of The Office, something they’ve both seen before that they don’t have to focus on. Dan giggles intermittently as the show goes on, until he quiets down and Phil realizes he’s fallen asleep. He’s curled around Phil’s side, head rested in the crook of his shoulder, calm and peaceful, cheeks rosy from the fever and Phil fixes up the blanket so that he’s covered better, before leaning in to kiss Dan’s temple.  

Strangely, Phil is feeling calm and peaceful too. Like this is exactly where he's supposed to be. Like this, here with Dan, is just enough.

It’s hours before Dan wakes up again; Phil has made his way through a good chunk of the new Stephen King book.

“Hey Phil?”

“Huh?”

“Am I still alive?”

Phil chuckles, pulling Dan in for a hug. “I guess. I don’t think I have the ability to see dead people. Yet.”

“I think the fever’s gone down. I’m less - cold?” Dan touches his own forehead thoughtfully. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course. I got you.”

“You’re probably going to be sick too, now. I shouldn’t have kissed you back in the taxi.”

“I seriously think I would have died if you hadn’t. I’d rather have the flu, thank you.”

“Can I kiss you again, then?”

Dan is looking expectant, like he seriously thinks Phil needs to be asked. His chin is rested on Phil’s shoulder and closing the space between their faces would be the easiest of all easy tasks.

“I’d really like that.”

Phil rests his hand between Dan’s shoulder blades, not quite pulling him in, just a gentle reminder that he’s here, not going anywhere. And this point, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to. Dan squeezes Phil’s arms and they both stay in the moment, the kiss not leading to anything, nothing but an exchange of breaths and a wordless confession of something Phil won’t even admit to himself.

*

Dan comes back from rehearsal day sometime after 9 PM, properly exhausted, feverish again, with glassy eyes.

“I seriously wish I was dead now. All of my muscles are screaming.”

Their hotel bathroom has a massive bathtub, so Phil fills it with water and complimentary shower gel that creates tons of vaguely chemically-smelling foam. Dan immerses himself with a sigh, Phil resting his head against cold white porcelain on the other side. There’s enough space in the tub for the two of them not to even be touching.

For many reasons, Phil is grateful for the foam. It’s been months since he’s last seen Dan naked, it’s been months too long and his body won’t let him forget. Dan is still everything and a little more, even in his most human, vulnerable state.

“This is exactly what I needed, Phil, thank you.”

They soak, chatting idly and when Dan starts getting cold, Phil just pours some more hot water in.

Everything is fine. Phil is in control of everything, is he not? His life is going just as planned: nice, boring and safe, with absolutely no unexpected detours into passionate romances with crazy hot, unavailable dancers.

“Are you happy with him, Dan?”

Sometimes Phil speaks quicker than he thinks, some demon possessing him to ask the question that’s been bothering him forever. Dan doesn’t deserve it. Dan is a consenting adult in this, and makes his own choices. Dan is currently sick and needs Phil’s support.

“Who, Anthony?”

Phil nods, unnerved by finally hearing the name of The Boyfriend out loud. It causes him nearly physical discomfort.

“Well. What the fuck is happiness, anyway? I don’t think I know. I’ve been depressed for so many years now I think my perception of happiness and sadness is a little - warped, to say the least.”

Phil regrets asking the question even more now. “I’m - I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like I go around telling everybody, do I?” Dan winks with no humor, picking up some foam and putting it on his head just for the hell of it. “It’s alright. I’m managing. I go to therapy, and I’ve been off the meds for a long while now. I’m fine. I just - I have this amazing life, you know? I make good money doing what I love. I travel the world. I live in LA with my gorgeous, loving boyfriend. It’s like, if I told anyone I’m _not_ happy, they would probably burn me at the stake, you know?”

Phil doesn’t. He just nods again.

“It doesn’t feel like my life. It doesn’t. Sometimes I wake up at night scared that it’s all gone. Or hoping that it is, I'm not sure. It’s like I’m not even a real person, like I play pretend.”

“You don’t, Dan. You - you deserve all of it. You earned it.”

The strange new light burning in Dan’s eyes now, that might or might not be the fever, rustles Phil to the core. “I feel real when I’m with you.”

Maybe Dan doesn’t quite get the weight of his confession. Maybe he doesn’t understand why Phil’s confused that the sky hasn’t opened up above them yet, or that the earth is not shaking and everything still looks like it looked seconds ago, foam dripping off Dan’s hair, his black nail polish halfway scratched off, their bodies still not touching. Maybe Dan doesn’t understand, but he still notices the change in Phil’s face, and says his name in the softest voice Phil has ever heard.

_Yes._

Phil answers an unasked question when Dan slides into his space swiftly and gracefully, slotting in between his legs, wet palms on Phil’s shoulders, pressing his mouth against Phil’s to moan into it incoherently. Phil kisses him, the bathroom lights forming a halo around Dan’s head right before Phil closes his eyes. Dan is touching him underneath all the foam, adding the warmth of his hand to the warmth of the water, tracing the side of Phil’s jaw with his tongue after they break the kiss.

Maybe this is Phil’s version of unreal. Maybe this is the life he’s not supposed to be living, the unexpected side quest that he’s going to be painfully kicked out of.

It’s alright. When Dan presses his erection against Phil’s own, it _feels_ real, more real than anything. Dan lets him grab onto his hips like they’re a lifeline, like Phil is in actual danger of drowning in their bath and the insanity of this moment.

They rock against each other, trading sweet nothings, the water washing away all fears of tomorrow.

*

 _I can't do this anymore_ , Phil says during one of their countless whispered phone calls.

 _Me neither_ , Dan replies, and the train Phil’s on keeps rocking ahead, the morning commuters looking just as lifeless and empty as he's feeling.

Neither of them can do it anymore, yet they still do. Dan sends dirty pictures Phil opens under tables during business meetings. When Phil sends dirty pictures, Dan deletes them just in case. _But I'm saving them in my mind._

Phil’s brother starts asking what's wrong. Phil can deal with that, but when his mom asks the same thing, Phil breaks down crying. He doesn't actually _tell_ her, but it doesn't change the fact that she holds him and dries down his tears like when he was a kid, and it makes him feel a little better.

Cornelia straight up asks him if he's doing drugs. Shocked, he replies that of course he's not.

“Oh. You're in love then.”

In _what?_

He's in way too deep. One night he sits down to write a long, thorough, respectful message to Dan, explaining why it can't go on; pouring his heart out. Calling things by name. He spends an hour on it, agonizing over word choices, trying to be gentle, but adamant. His laptop dies at some point, and when he plugs it in and turns it back on, the message is still there, but Phil doesn't want to send it anymore.

He deletes every word, wipes away the memory of writing it in the first place.

 _You’re poison. You're the worst kind of drug I ever encountered. I'm too weak to stay away from you. It’s pathetic. I miss you_ , he types instead, and deletes it too.

*

Dan is wearing a suit in the new Editors video.

Phil watches the choreography with his mouth agape. Dan’s _there_ , in the mess of dancing bodies, moving as fluidly and otherworldly as ever, and he loses most of the suit by the end of the video. Phil’s never seen anything quite this hot.

Well, he hasn’t seen anything quite this hot since the previous video with Dan in it came out.

Winter refuses to go away, so Phil rescues his warmest jacket from the very back of his closet and goes to Heathrow to pick up Dan.

They are both in love with each other at this point. They’ve shared everything except the actual words, and the words don’t even matter that much. Each and every meeting leaves them more broken, each and every period of separation tries to heal what they don’t want to be healed. Dan’s exhausted from leading a double life. Phil’s exhausted from keeping him a secret.

It’s him waiting for Dan behind the glass this time. Dan’s expression doesn’t change much upon seeing him, he just heaves a massive sigh of relief and falls into Phil’s arms wordlessly. He hides his face in the fabric of Phil’s grey sweater and grips him tightly, Phil holding Dan back, stroking up and down his back to finally tangle his fingers in Dan’s hair. When Dan starts shaking slightly, Phil realizes he’s crying.

“I’m here now. You’re here. We’re alright, Danny. We’re alright.” Phil doesn’t have anything useful to say. Every minute without Dan is like being repeatedly punched in the throat, and if Dan feels the same thing even half as strongly, his emotional reaction is perfectly justified.

“Fuck, Phil, I’m so sorry.”

“Well, don’t be,” Phil half-whispers into Dan’s ear, finding his hand, but then dropping it in favor of wrapping an arm around Dan’s shoulders and grabbing his suitcase for him to lead him out of the airport.

Dan’s got stuff in Phil’s apartment now. A toothbrush, underwear, a couple of t-shirts, spare chargers, some hair products. A stray bottle of nail polish is standing on the shelf in front of Phil’s bathroom mirror. Walking in, Dan brushes his fingertips against the houseplants in Phil’s hallway, studying the way they feel. He drops his jacket, takes off his shoes, sits on the couch and it’s like he’s always been here, like the time when he wasn’t and Phil had to miss him never really happened.

Phil kneels on the floor in front of the couch, taking Dan’s hands into his, not sure what’s going to happen. Dan keeps looking at him, sad but somewhat determined, Phil realizing he must’ve been wearing some eyeliner because the tear smudges down his cheeks are ashy black.

“I love you, Phil,” Dan says after what feels like three hundred years of silence, grimly, but confidently, not breaking their eye contact.

Phil knows. He’s known for a while. Phil’s been in love with him ever since Dan put a hand on his shoulder during their first cab ride.

“I love you too.”

Dan still keeps looking, like he’s known as well. No alarms and no surprises. This is not a new reality they have to live in, because they’ve been living in it for some time now.

“Does it mean anything?” Phil asks, knowing he should not harbor hope, knowing that it will, sooner or later, just kill him.

Dan doesn’t reply. They cook dinner together, Thai stir-fried noodles, they start talking like they always do and everything gets a little easier, less serious, and Phil feels joy seeing the dimples in Dan’s cheeks.

Dan repeats the L word like an incantation when they fuck later, rising and falling on top of Phil, screaming about love and Phil’s head is spinning from something more than just sex. Dan rests his warm palms on Phil’s chest, pressing his thighs closer to Phil’s hips, then touching himself to the rhythm. Phil’s watching, overwhelmed, trying hard to keep up Dan’s tempo, something different and brighter about the boy, something that wasn’t there hours ago. His face is pale, hair flopping down to his forehead as he’s biting down on his lower lip in pleasure.

Phil can’t help but say the L word again too, pressing it into Dan’s palm with a kiss.

“I don’t wanna come back to LA,” a vague shape of Dan in the darkness says later, breath warm on Phil’s shoulder.

“Then don’t,” Phil replies.

“One of these days maybe I won’t.”

Phil doesn’t dwell on it, and even though he wants to grab Dan’s face and kiss the hell out of him, he remains unmoved.

“Are you working tomorrow? What time?”

Dan’s silent for a second longer than necessary; Phil’s already seeing red flags. “I’m not.”

“You're not?”

“There’s no job, Phil. Not for a week at least.”

“Wait, what do you mean no job?”

“Look, I can get a hotel or whatever if you think I'm overstaying my welcome. I just - I wanted to see you, okay? I couldn’t wait another week.”

This time Phil doesn’t quite resist the urge to kiss the hell out of Dan. Dan laughs into it, playfully grabbing Phil’s ass, relaxing in the embrace.

There it is. Happy. They’re happy now. Dan claims not to know what happiness it, but he _must_ feel it.

“I have an audition next Friday. A big one, kind of.”

“An audition for what?”

“A musical on West End. They’re recruiting a lot of dancers, a rotating cast, ready to commit for like a year or so. The rehearsals take forever, and then the show runs for at least a couple months.”

The thought of possibly having Dan around all the time stops the air in Phil’s lungs. The thought that Dan might have decided to audition to be closer to Phil in the first place knocks him out like a roaring freight train.

“I’m going to kiss you again now, Dan.”

Dan’s grin is a splash of white in the dark bedroom. “I was kinda hoping you would.”

*

“I broke up with Anthony,” Dan says over breakfast the next day like it’s not even that important, and Phil spills some orange juice.

His brain spills a little too because he can't speak for a good second, Dan not even looking at him.

“You _what?_ When? Like, this morning, or?”

“No, like, two weeks ago.” Dan keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth, persistently not looking up.

Phil’s been through his share of shocks ever since he met Dan, but this is a big one. The biggest one if he’s being honest. “What?! And you didn’t even tell me?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal, Dan! It is a very big deal!” Phil can’t exactly imagine a bigger deal than this. All those months of beating himself up, of feeling painfully unfair each time he touches Dan, all those months of missing him like half of his own body fell off and knowing he couldn’t have him, and Dan’s just… telling him over breakfast two weeks later? Phil’s frustrated and almost angry, until he notices how much Dan’s hand that’s gripping the spoon is shaking.

Oh. So Dan’s terrified. That explains a lot.

Phil just might be doing it all wrong.

He chooses just one of at least twenty questions he wants to ask. The reality hasn’t caught up with him yet. “Are you - are you okay?”

Dan scoffs a little, and then shakes his head, finally putting down the spoon. “You saw me back at the airport yesterday, yeah? I was a mess. Everything I cared about was getting to you. It’s been everything I cared about for months now. It’s not going to change anytime soon. It’s never going to change. I just - I had to find some courage.”

“Dan, this is -”

“Please let me say what I’ve got to say, alright?”

Dan explains some more. He says he doesn’t want Phil to feel pressured to be with him, like it wasn’t everything Phil’s been dreaming of. Dan says he’s still got a lot of open ends in LA that he needs to deal with, and that he doesn’t want to talk about the breakup details yet. Dan repeats it’s not a big deal, it doesn’t have to be, and that he’s just trying his best to be happy, whatever that means.

Phil's heart grows three sizes as he listens.

“London feels happy. With you feels happy. I’m just making the steps to be as close to happy as possible.”

*

Dan rolls two gigantic suitcases into Phil’s apartment, and Phil rolls in two more. They get stuck in the hallway, almost knocking over a vase Phil once got from Cornelia, or maybe Sophie, or maybe his mom. They laugh for a moment, unable to move ahead, until Dan straight up leaps over one suitcase and presses Phil against the wall in a kiss, pinning Phil’s arms over his head.

_Welcome home._

There’s a gigantic bouquet of blood red roses by Dan’s side of the bed. Phil got it because that’s what people do, because Dan deserves it, and because their new chapter deserves a beautiful bookend.

Dan covers his mouth at the sight of the flowers, his eyes brimming with tears. “Nobody ever got me flowers before. You’re the best, Phil.”

“Hey, you’re going to be a West End performer in two days! This is just the start.”

“I’m pretty sure dancers don’t get flowers. Unless you mean, like, ballet soloists.”

“Well, this dancer is going to get a lot of flowers from his caring, thoughtful boyfriend.” Phil brushes off stray locks from Dan’s forehead, the other man smiling despite his teary eyes. 

“I like the sound of that.”

Phil is so in love with Dan it still scares him. It’s a risk, he knows that. A risky detour is not supposed to be the main road you choose in the end; it’s just supposed to be a temporary measure. Dan is seated on the bed though, his sequin bomber jacket sparkling in the rays of the afternoon sun, wonderingly looking at the roses and gently touching their petals, and Phil is convinced he never really had a choice in the first place.

He’s still mesmerized.

**Author's Note:**

> The "alt-pop band with a heavier edge and a beautiful vocalist" is made up. Charli XCX probably doesn't have a 90s hip hop-styled video. The Editors video is called Magazine and you can watch it [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08h4wVssYJM)
> 
> Please let me know if you liked the story in the comments!
> 
> Forever yours at samrull.tumblr.com


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